


Come and Lift Me

by Meadow Lion (Meadow_Lion)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Canon Continuation, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Christmas, Drama & Romance, M/M, Partially Deceased Syndrome, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadow_Lion/pseuds/Meadow%20Lion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the events of series two, Simon is somewhat broody at Christmastime, Kieren not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come and Lift Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizimajig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizimajig/gifts).



> The story's title is from Sarah McLachlan's "Full of Grace." The verse quoted near the end of the story is from W.B. Yeats' "Ego Dominus Tuus." Any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Liz, I hope you enjoy your gift!

_Some may have blamed you that you took away_   
_The verses that could move them on the day_   
_When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind_   
_With lightning you went from me, and I could find_   
_Nothing to make a song about but kings,_   
_Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things_   
_That were like memories of you—but now_   
_We’ll out, for the world lives as long ago;_   
_And while we’re in our laughing, weeping fit,_   
_Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit._   
_But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,_   
_My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone._

~ "Reconciliation," W.B. Yeats ~ 

 

Simon's head is full of traitorous thoughts, not shaped into blades or needles or earth-caked nails. They're the pale tapers of Kieren's fingers roughing out a sketch, the crook of his elbow like an old-fashioned gentleman's offer, the muscled flex of his knees when he --

"Damn, the angel's falling."

His traitorous head jerks up at Kieren's observation. "What?"

Kieren nods toward the scrawny fir they're meant to be decorating in the Walkers' front room. His mouth is firmed, solemn, but his eyebrows twitch. "Our Amy-angel is trying to slide off her perch."

"Oh." Focusing on the treetop, Simon sees the figurine Kieren installed there earlier. The traditional glass angel has a miniature drawing of Amy's smiling face affixed to its head. He smiles too. "She does seem intent on going her own way down the boughs."

"Makes sense, I guess," Kieren says, grinning for a moment before turning earnest. "Does it bother you?"

Simon frowns in confusion. "Thinking about Amy?"

Reaching up, Kieren adjusts the angel so she's still askew but less precariously. "No, that I put her on here. Adapted the angel. I know the ULA is really into Revelations, and you've all that religious gear in your room, the big cross and pictures and everything. I don't want to offend you at Christmas."

He doesn't have the ready answer he would've had, before the 12th or before even meeting Kieren, about the strength of his faith. And he won't reiterate now how much Kieren has shaken him. While he considers what to say, Simon lifts one hand to cup Kieren's face and try to halt the spread of worry across it. Kieren's eyelids fall closed, his lashes sweeping away the brightness of his eyes. Simon kisses them open again, meets his gaze directly.

"Adapt away, Kieren. I think . . . " Again he kisses Kieren, softly and slowly, because his mouth needs something else to do for one more moment. "I think that faith has to have room for adaptation and for love."

Kieren's eyes widen, shocked and wondering, before he's grabbing Simon's shoulders and kissing him hard. Kieren's mouth is always open and hungry and desperate on his, always aching with a need that's no less strong for being all in their heads. Desire vibrates through Simon so intensely he can almost feel it like an itch, like every insensate moment is building to a shatterpoint of more feeling than his body can contain.

Jesus, Simon misses orgasms.

His palm tight on Kieren's jaw, Simon breaks the kiss to suck in ragged breaths. Kieren's lips still tease at the edges of his. Simon turns back to catch those eager lips again, to flick his tongue between and drag his teeth over them, and his next breath is a stolen moan from Kieren.

Kieren's hands drop to Simon's waist, bringing them together. Simon slips his free hand into Kieren's hair. He tilts Kieren's head for a better angle and eases his tongue deeper. There's an echo in Simon's mind of Kieren urging, " _Yeah, c'mon, give it to me, fill me up_ ," and all he wants is to give Kieren _everything_ , and --

Something scrapes across the roof above them before Steve calls out cheerfully, "I'm fine," to Sue, his spotter on the ground while he strings lights.

Kieren sinks his head into the juncture of Simon's neck and shoulder, and shakes.

Simon strokes his hair and back. "Hey, you're okay, we can --"

Leaning away, Kieren lifts his laughing face. "No, I'm sorry, they are clearly the biggest mood inhibitors on the planet for us."

"Pretty typical of parents, isn't it?" Simon quirks his mouth. "I'm all for picking up that mood again later, though."

"Is that a promise?" Kieren asks, twining his fingers with Simon's and leaning in closer, his eyebrows raised.

Simon presses his lips to a spot behind Kieren's ear. Kieren trembles against Simon as he breathes, "Promise."

Kieren rewards him with another smile before slipping free, returning to tree duty. He picks up a needle and begins stringing popped corn and cranberries from nearby bowls along a thread. Simon steps up beside him and follows suit. They lean together, falling into a shared rhythm, like tumblers landing in a lock.

That was an easy promise to make, and not one Simon will break. Because it's Kieren. Simon can't trust himself with anyone else, not anymore. Becoming one of the Prophet's disciples was an oath he never expected to betray, the leader and redeemed family he didn't imagine he would forsake after his father's rejection.

Part of him is still drawn to the Prophet, raw sutures up his spine dragging his head toward the floor in penitence. But more and more of Simon reaches instead for Kieren. For the friction of opinions and family and skin. He knows he can't hang his future on Kieren, isn't just exchanging a prophet for a saviour. What he told Steve was reflex, though, saving Kieren -- _choosing_ Kieren -- was so much bigger. Wherever his fealty to the Prophet is seated in Simon, the seed of what he has here with Kieren is planted deeper and growing truer.

He suddenly realizes that Kieren is singing under his breath. When he catches the words, almost a tangent to his own thoughts, Simon huffs out a laugh, no mockery, pure amusement. "O Christmas Tree?"

Halting his song, Kieren spins, grabbing and layering both their corny threads up Simon's torso while reciting, "Yet surely there are men who have made their art / Out of no tragic war, lovers of life, / Impulsive men that look for happiness / And sing when they have found it."

Thus bound, Simon just looks at Kieren.

Kieren wraps the end of the thread round his finger. "What, did you think you were the only one who could memorize a verse?"

Simon laughs again. When was the last time he felt this much joy in one afternoon? "It sounds better from me."

"Oh, yes," Kieren jokes, "all the better to gain followers."

Simon's expression must fall, because Kieren drops his gaze and starts unraveling Simon from his thread.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean that."

Simon shakes his head, shakes away his thoughts. Kieren wants to look for happiness, and Simon will still do whatever he can of Kieren wants, will try to change and adapt along with him. It isn't safe, but . . . "It's all right. I surrendered my magic powers. I'm not disappearing again, and we're just us, not blind followers."

His hands full of now tangled thread, Kieren looks up for a silent beat at Simon. Then Kieren plops the thread atop Simon's head and says, in a tone that belies the words, "You think I'd follow you anywhere?"

"Okay." Simon plucks at the thread, even though he knows he hasn't a chance of extricating himself, wouldn't want it anyway. "Okay, soon as we're done, I'll follow _you_ to the bungalow."

Kieren's expression is as good as a blush, warm and enticing, and his voice is low. "I think all that's left in here is the mistletoe."

Glancing round, Simon catches sight of the merry sprig, where it managed to get itself caught under the lopsided Amy-angel. He wraps his hands round Kieren's waist and spins him to face the tree. "I don't know how it got there, but I'll take that sign."

Kieren tips back his head against Simon, who kisses his cheek. "Mysterious ways, right?"

\- end - 


End file.
